Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
B y the time they reached the Coleman House that Fourth of July, it was clear that Jefferson Everett and Renée Wagner had had a few too many drinks.
Responsibly, they’d left the Lamborghini somewhere, wherever it was they’d had those drinks, and took a cab over to the Coleman House.
Estelle opened the door to greet them, and far behind her, Aria hovered on the back porch, her hand around Logan’s elbow, craning to see as much as she could of the mysterious couple.
Renée waddled in on her heels, drawing Estelle into an enthusiastic hug.
After that, she hugged Hilary as though the two of them had really bonded.
They hadn’t. Aria would have been told about that because Aria and her mother told each other everything.
Why did Renée want to put on this show for Jefferson Everett?
Renée had been given the photo album, filled with photographs of Dorothy, Rachel, and Renée.
In the wake of that, what on earth was going through Renée’s head?
It stood to reason she’d been shaken up.
Aria had never had a sister, but she could only imagine the loss that had been for Renée—a sister nearly exactly her own age, with whom she’d probably done everything.
How had Rachel died? Why was it such a big mystery?
Estelle led Renée and Jefferson onto the back porch, where Renée spotted Aria and said, “There she is. My best girl.” Aria nearly looked behind her to see if Renée meant someone else.
But no, here she came, ready to hug Aria, to show Jefferson that she had this “close” relationship with a girl who could have been her daughter.
“I have someone special for you to meet,” Renée said, turning toward Jefferson. “This is my partner, Jefferson.”
Partner! What a name for someone who’d yanked her around emotionally for decades.
Aria shook his hand and said, “Nice to meet you,” but saw in his eyes a sinister glow.
She remembered what her mother had told her: that during her years locked away in the estate, Dorothy had written to Renée, telling her that Jefferson was too much like Philip Wagner, that she’d always imagined she’d be with someone better than that.
That she’d wanted Renée to be safe with someone who could actually love her.
That was when Jefferson and Logan spotted one another.
All the color drained from Logan’s face. He stood straight and extended his hand. “Mr. Everett! It’s wonderful to see you again.”
Aria’s head pounded. What was going on?
“Logan, my boy,” Jefferson said, putting on a false smile. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“It’s a coincidence,” Logan said. “I met Aria a few weeks ago, and she invited me to Nantucket to celebrate the holiday.” He was speaking rapidly, animatedly. And then, to explain himself, he shifted to Aria to say, “Mr. Everett is one of the producers for my film.”
Aria’s blood ran cold. Although she’d mentioned Renée’s boyfriend to Logan, she’d never said his name aloud. It meant that he never could have put two and two together.
Logan and Jefferson spoke for a little while about Logan’s animation and how excited Logan was. Logan was clearly on edge. Aria wasn’t sure she liked the performance he was putting on
When Logan and Jefferson’s conversation fizzled, Jefferson said under his breath to Renée, “You said Roland was here?” It was gruff, as though he’d come here only because he’d been promised to meet the “great businessman,” someone he could actually relate to.
He hadn’t said anything to Aria at all.
“Of course, darling. There he is. Lovely to meet you, Logan.” She led Jefferson across the porch to introduce him to Roland, who beamed—maybe in a false way—and shook Jefferson’s hand.
“That’s right,” Grandpa Roland said. “We did meet before. I remember now.”
Jefferson was off to the races, recounting to Roland a semi-funny event that had brought them together years ago—something to do with a crazy-expensive restaurant, an early-internet mogul, three billionaires, and a sailboat lost in a card game.
Renée hung beside Jefferson, looking a little lost.
“I’m sorry about that,” Logan muttered to Aria. “My heart is pounding.”
“Let’s take a breather,” Aria whispered.
They walked to the water, where they dipped their toes in the surf, continuing down the beach until her grandparents’ massive house was the size of a postcard and the sounds of the party dimmed. Only a few rogue laughs rolled toward them.
“He’s not my favorite of the producers,” Logan said of Jefferson. “I’m pretty sure he’s just a money guy, brought in by the other more artistic producers to secure additional funds. I overheard them having to convince him that I was worth it. I don’t even know if I am.” Logan hung his head.
“Don’t say that.” Aria felt at a loss. “You’re a brilliant animator. You deserve every bit of backing you’ve secured so far. You deserve even more than that!”
But Logan remained quiet for a few moments, as though frightened he’d just destroyed his career.
Aria didn’t want to be the one to break the silence. She wondered if her story with Logan was already coming to a close—all because of Renée.
“I can’t believe you grew up here.” Logan threw his head back and took a deep breath. “It’s so different from where I come from. Breathing in that sea air is crazy! I mean, it makes sense that you’re a creative person. Everything around you has always been beautiful.”
Grateful that he was finding his way through his emotions, Aria laced her fingers through Logan’s and listened to the water shifting across the sand.
She realized she hadn’t checked Thaddeus’s social media updates in weeks.
“It’s funny to see Renée again after that first day,” Logan said, remembering.
“You thought she was going to call the cops on me.”
“And now, she’s pretending you’re the best of friends,” Logan said with a sharp laugh.
Aria told him that that had been Renée’s first time at the brownstone in decades, which miffed him, especially given the on-again, off-again state of her relationship with Jefferson.
“Why would she ignore that massive real estate in the city? Especially if she had a key? I mean, you’ve seen how small my place is.
If I had an opportunity to live in a brownstone like that, I’d take it.
” Logan rubbed his chest. “Do you think Jefferson knows about the brownstone?”
Aria thought this was a good point. Maybe Jefferson had never known about it. Perhaps it was a sort of hiding-out spot in the city, where she could go and he would never find her.
They spent a few minutes speculating, walking deeper into the water, until the waves splashed their knees. They kissed like that, their arms wrapped around one another.
Aria wondered what it was about this beauty, this safe and wonderful love that Renée couldn’t grasp. Was it because of her upbringing? Had her mother taught her to want terrible men? But how did William France come into the picture? And where was he?
After they ate their traditional Fourth of July barbecue—grilled chicken, hot dogs, cheeseburgers, and plenty of dips and snacks—they gathered up their troops and headed down their personal dock, where three sailboats awaited them.
The plan was to sail out far enough so that they could watch the fireworks explode over the island in a colorful symphony.
Maybe because Logan couldn’t afford to avoid one of his producers, Aria and Logan got on board with Renée and Jefferson, as well as Hilary, Marc, Estelle, and Roland.
Jefferson popped a pricey bottle of champagne and poured it into flutes, shimmying this way and that as he tried to maintain his cool-guy posture as the boat whipped out.
Roland was their captain, but he made sure to show Logan a few tips as they went, smiling broadly.
It was already clear that the Colemans wanted Aria happy—and they saw happiness between her and Logan. They welcomed Logan into the fold.
“You heard I’m supporting the poor boy’s art, didn’t you, Roland?” Jefferson asked, his teeth yellow as he smiled.
Roland flinched at the term “poor boy.”
“I, for one, would love to see your art, Logan,” Roland said. “If Aria’s impressed with it, I’m sure I’ll love it too.”
“It’s something, all right,” Jefferson continued even though he hadn’t been asked. “It isn’t my cup of tea, necessarily, but you know, I’m only in tune with the art of money.”
“And what is the art of money, Jefferson?” Hilary asked, her voice laced with sarcasm.
Everyone turned to look at her, surprised. Was she really going to risk her job at the Wagner Estate by insulting Renée’s boyfriend?
But Aria’s mother wore an expression like she didn’t care, like she was at the end of her rope with this guy and wanted to show him what was what. Aria knew that look well, although it had rarely ever been directed at her.
Jefferson cackled and waved his flute of champagne. “You know it when you see it,” he said.
Aria felt as though she could hear Dorothy’s thoughts, even from beyond the grave. She felt them like: Get my daughter away from this man.
When they dropped anchor, Aria watched as Jefferson pressed a flute of champagne into her grandfather Roland’s hand and said, “And tell me, Roland, have you mulled over my proposition?” His eyes glinted with urgency.
It was clear he’d come to the Coleman House for business reasons, to make more money than he already had. Aria didn’t have to hear anything of Jefferson’s business proposition to know it was seedy.
For the first time, Aria wondered if Jefferson had only returned to Renée, only told her he loved her again, in order to get closer to the Colemans. She wondered if he was no better than a snake oil salesman, searching for opportunity wherever he could. Using people.
Roland smiled. “Let’s enjoy the fireworks, my man. Let’s not get carried away on such a beautiful holiday.”